


No Way In Here

by EtheAngstMachine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Acid, Blood, Dark!Dean, Gen, Gore, Hell, Torture, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtheAngstMachine/pseuds/EtheAngstMachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean being tortured, Dean torturing, and Dean being raised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Way In Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the grossest fic I've ever written. Readers beware.

“So Dean. Had time to….” A knife slides cleanly in between the skin of his finger and the bone. “Consider my offer?”

Before Dean can answer the usual, “ _No way in here_ ”, his middle finger’s being severed until it’s hanging by one solitary nerve, dangling under the knife, swinging back and forth in mockery of Alistair’s request.

Dean doesn’t scream out in pain, instead he grits his teeth and uses all of his energy to spit directly into Alistair’s face.  That earns him a smile. A wicked, daunting smile. And in a way, that smile is worse than the infliction he knows is about to come; the feeling of his retaliation being fruitless.

How long has it been?

He can’t remember. He hasn’t thought to ask and each time his body is rebuilt it’s like his mental slate isn’t, and everything runs together.

A searing hot poker is carefully inserted into his spinal column, splitting his lumbar vertebrae in half and causing his legs to dangle, all feeling below the waist cut off. He tenses. Cutting off the pain was _never_ in the agenda.

“I’ve got something special for you Dean.” His cold, grating voice comes from behind Dean and all Dean can feel is the pain in his hand and warm, sticky, disgusting breath on the back of his neck. “I thought we’d focus on some problem areas; you know, make sure everything’s working okay.”

And then it’s a pin prick, and Dean’s confused. A tiny _ding_ on the back of his head, and that’s not enough, he realizes.

Another prick, and suddenly Dean understands that it’s not a prick, it’s a _pull_. Pull after pull the pain increases until Alistair’s tiny repetitive movements each feel like a _yank_. He can feel blood dripping down his back, the back of his head bare and bleeding. Alistair moves up further. This is new, a new pain, and the lack of feeling in his legs makes it worse, somehow, like that’s all he can focus on.  His eyes bleed with tears that he knows are useless and he _hates._

He _hates_ himself for this. He’s hated Alistair and he’s hated Lilith and even at one point his own father but never more than he hates himself for being so weak. And as Alistair plucks the last hair from Dean’s head, blood dribbling down his face and into his eyes, his tortured sob is partially muted by a mighty crash above him. He hears nothing from Alistair until he’s suddenly in front of him, glaring at him with more hatred than usual after a round.

“So, Dean? Any thoughts? Ready to make it all stop?” The desperation in his voice goes unnoticed by Dean, and maybe, if he’d noticed, he would have exploited it for answers about what’s going on above him; around him. He can hear the chaos though not see it, he can feel it. But then there’s a blast of pain as Alistair grabs his raw head and squeezes, and Dean just chokes out, “Sammy please.”

 

* * *

 

“Please stop! Please, don’t do it again no!” A young female struggles against the hooks in her shoulders and legs, tears blocking her vision and blood coating her face. Dean smiles thinly as he holds her left eyeball in front of her face so she can see it.

“You have beautiful eyes, Caroline.” He tosses the orb to the ground beside him and picks up the hooked blade he used to cut it out. “But let’s make it even, how about that?”

“NO! PLEASE IT HURTS! NO MORE! NO MORE!” Her restraining points bleed as she tries futilely to yank free, but Dean cups the back of her head roughly and carves out her other crystal blue eye.

“There there now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He smiles at her unseeing, screaming figure. “Wonder what you did that was so wrong up there that you had to be punished so bad in here.” He pauses his movements only for a second, cocking his head and listening as, just for a moment, the almost constant hum of war ceases. But just like that, it’s back again, and so he goes over to his table and retrieves a bottle of acid.

“This won’t hurt a bit, darlin’.” He douses her feet and shins with the acid, grinning at her strangled sobs and pleas as the acid congeals her skin and it lumps onto the floor. “I think you’re one of my favorites.”

Tremors shake all around him as the sounds of battle get louder, and he braces himself on one of Caroline’s chains as a bright light fills the empty space around him. A hand, so hot and burning that he almost screams to Alistair because he _promised_ the torture was over, but then he’s being pulled up and up and up until he can’t hear the forever shrillness of pain and torture. His ears bleed as the clashing around him turns to high pitched wails, and then,

darkness.


End file.
